Coping
by SarahElizabethPetersen
Summary: After her squad and a Spartan were killed in action an ODST finds a way to cope with what she had witnessed.


Sitting in the dimly lit corner of the mess hall Private Amy Rogers was drinking tequila straight from the bottle. She stopped feeling the burn in the back of her throat after six swigs of the stuff. Her pale gray eyes were blood shot from lack of sleep. She ran her nimble fingers through her blonde hair that was cut short enough so that it didn't disrupt her view inside her ODST helmet. No one blamed her for not being able to sleep and drinking as much as she did after what she had seen.

She was a member of a four man squad sent on a simple recon mission with a Spartan as backup. Another Halo ring was found and the UNSC's main priority was finding out if the Covenant had set up shop. Within ten minutes of their landing everything went wrong.

"You shouldn't drink that stuff alone you know," Private O'Brien slid into the seat across from her.

Most times she would have flinched from his boyish voice scaring her. Now nothing seemed to faze her. "Just get back?" she asked surprising herself with a steady tone.

His blue eyes locked onto her, "Yup." He grabbed the bottle filling his mouth with the burning alcohol. "Wow that's strong," he stammered between coughs.

She shrugged taking another swig, "It's not too bad."

"I guess it wouldn't be if I drank as much you."

"How did you do it?" She asked into the silence filling their small booth.

"Do what?"

"Watch a Spartan die than act normal?"

He froze. She was referring to the mission he had years ago, the one he could never forget. Cal-141 saved his life three times and with the final one was killed by a Brute for his lack of attention. "I…I really don't know," he ran a hand through his always messy red hair. "I guess telling you what happened helped. Is this about him?"

She nodded her gazed slid away from her childhood friend to stare out at space. "Spartan RK-225, I never asked what his real name was. He took a sniper round to the head for me after the other ODSTs were picked off. I watched them all die."

"Amy, it wasn't your fault," O'Brien said softly.

"That's what everyone says even my therapist but their wrong. I didn't fire a single shot while my comrades were picked off one by one." Tears stung the back of her eyes as the old memory drudged to the surface. "Hanks got his throat slit by an elite commander. Thompson shot through the heart by a needler round from a grunt that got lucky. Rodriguez took the full force of a brutes hammer swing to the back. Then there was RK-225, poor bastard."

He waited for her to continue. She took a mouth full of tequila taking her sweet time to swallow it her hand shaking as she set the bottle down. "He helped me find a ship to get off the ring than he had to go play the dammed hero by staying behind. I saw the beam rifle's shot rip through his skull spraying his blood and brain matter everywhere. He gave me this before I left him," she held up the dog tags with the Spartans identification dotted with dried blood. "I boarded the ship and got the hell out of there without a second look at that man's dead body."

O'Brien watched her speechless. She had never told him what happened and he filled in the blanks from the rumors. He now understood that her mission had been much worse than anyone had suggested.

"I left my men dead and didn't even try to help them when I had the chance. I'm a coward." Her words were beginning to slur and her body felt numb just the she way she liked. Being drunk made it easier to deal with the pain and nightmares that constantly haunted her. "No, I'm worse than a coward. I'm fucking scum!" She slammed her trembling fist down on the table as if to prove a point.

"I used to think like that," He began slowly. He slouched in his seat arms folded over his chest. "I also used to think that if I hadn't been a strong headed fool maybe Cal wouldn't have died. You wanna know how that all changed?"

She didn't answer and he hadn't expected her to so he went on. "I remembered what the drill sergeants back in ODST boot camp said. They told us that this is war, there will be deaths that cannot be helped and—"

"It's our job to honor our fallen comrades by continuing the fight without them." She finished for him as a single tear slipped from her eye.

"Helljumpers are the soldiers that go above and beyond what is expected of us. We live our lives one day at time. We take each mission as a new chance to prove ourselves." He watched her face go completely blank and he couldn't tell if she was still listening. "Can you honestly say you've been doing that?"

She didn't respond just stared at him with dead eyes. He slid out of his seat disappearing as quickly as he had appeared.

* * *

><p>Six months passed with dozens of missions teamed with a new squads and the occasional Spartan. Amy sobered up after her talk with O'Brien. She hadn't seen him since and wanted to thank him for he what he's said. She hadn't been acting like a proper solider. Like a proper Orbital Drop Shock Trooper.<p>

Entering the mess hall she grabbed a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. She never drank the stuff unless O'Brien showed up. He was good at popping out of nowhere in the hopes of surprising her. Sitting in her normal dimly lit booth she set the bottle and glasses down staring out the window next to her.

"Don't tell me you're still drinking the pain away?" O'Brien smiled as he dropped himself in the seat across from her. He knew she was back to her old self but couldn't help teasing her.

"No," she smiled back. "Now I drink to celebrate the ones who've given their lives in battle."

"Glad to hear that."

"And I don't drink without a partner, care to join me?"

"Don't have to ask me twice."

O'Brien grabbed the bottle and poured the amber liquid into the glasses. They each took a glass tossing it back.

Amy swallowed, "You were right, ya know." Her eyes sparkled as she watched her old friend cough from the strong whiskey. He wasn't a drinker and probably never would be but she had to admire his stubbornness for not letting her drink more than him.

His eyebrows shot up, "About what?" He already knew the answer but wanted to hear it from her mouth.

"Six months ago, I wasn't doing what I supposed to do." She explained her smile growing wider.

"I'm always right," he smirked.

She playfully kicked his shin from under the table. "Not always, Mister Sharpshooter. Weren't you the one who also thought assault rifle silencers were a good idea?"

"Can't ever let that go, can you?"

"Maybe when we're retired."

He shook his head chuckling while refilling their glasses. "To our fallen comrades may they find peace in whatever godforsaken place they ended up." He raised his glass.

"To going feet first," she raised her glass tapping it to his.

They drank deep into the night laughing and remembering their fallen squad mates.


End file.
